


Only Human

by Flammenkobold



Series: TMA Ep100 countdown [4]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Isolation, Loneliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-04
Updated: 2018-04-04
Packaged: 2019-04-18 03:44:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14204322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flammenkobold/pseuds/Flammenkobold
Summary: If Martin draws away from the rest of them, he doesn’t do so on purpose. And then there is almost no way back.





	Only Human

With John firmly back in the Archives there isn’t any need for Martin to record statements anymore. He wouldn’t say he misses it, but the itch is constantly there, some days worse than others. But John hoards the statements firmly as well as the tape recorders and Martin’s has been malfunctioning ever since the endless corridors Tim and him in were trapped in.

He busies himself in research and making tea, but with Melanie and Basira around and Tim finally starting to pull some of his weight again, he doesn’t feel particularly useful at the first thing. It never bothered him, his lack of formal education in the field, but against a former cop, ghost hunter and whatever it was that Tim did before, everything he taught himself seems woefully inadequate.

So he sticks mostly to the tea making and bothering John to get some rest in between, but more often than not John shoos him off. He doesn’t mean any ill by it, probably only tries to get Martin to take a break as well. But it stings slightly.

If he draws away from the rest of them, he doesn’t do so on purpose. Melanie still tries to drag him away for drinks, but the last time he had joined it had ended with him feeling like he was intruding on the girl’s time. He doesn’t think they feel like the same way, but it’s what he came away with.

Tim and him are talking less and less these days too. Martin sometimes doesn’t know what to say to him and other times he has so much to say that it clogs up his throat.

He’s becoming better and better at filing away the old statements, sorting the fake ones out and sometimes he records one for fun on the work laptop he has. Though maybe fun isn’t the right word, no matter how much he tells himself so. It’s a poor substitute for recording the real ones at best and an even poorer way to stop the itch.

The Archives has served as his home before but now he feels like he is getting to know the empty spaces and dark corners it has so surprisingly many of, far better than he did when he lived here. Perhaps Basira is on to something with finding a quiet room to read in.

There are days he barely sees the others, and then there are days he doesn’t see them at all.

One morning he wakes up and wonders why there are no birds he can hear. Then he notices that the sound of the early morning rush is also not there. As soon as he gets to the window everything returns and he chalks it up as an after-effect of sleep.

It happens more and more often though. 

He doesn’t tell the others.

There are days now he spends sorting the older sections of the Archives where he feels like he’s the only person in the world. It never really lasts, his commute in the tube making sure to remind him that there are other people around.

Then one morning he wakes up and all the sounds he knows from London are gone. They don’t return even after his shower, or when he leaves his flat. The city is still and silent in a way, he’s never heard before. It’s empty like he’s never seen it before, too.

There aren’t any people on his way to the tube station, or any people in it waiting for the train. The displays say it’s five minutes to the next train and no matter how long he looks at it, it doesn’t change.

He finally gives up and makes his way towards the institute by foot.

The door is open, but there is no one inside. Rosie isn’t at her desk, neither is Elias and the cafeteria is empty. The Archives are silent and his work laptop doesn’t turn on. Everything is the same, except no one is at work. It doesn’t help when he calls out for the others. No one answers him.

He tells himself that he might still be dreaming, or has a mental break, and just rests on the cot in the panic room for a bit. Perhaps Tim’s idea of just taking a nap wasn’t so bad. When he wakes up there still isn’t anyone around, and when he leaves the institute the sun is still in the same place as before.

Martin doesn’t scream or cry even though he wants to do both. The others will come for him, John will come for him, he tells himself. He just needs to wait.

Wait he does, but nothing happens.

Eventually he goes back to the Institute and sorts through the statements to find any clue. Except he doesn’t. The true statements are gone. Or they are not here. He doesn’t know which, not that it much matters. 

This time he does cry.

The food and the water in the cafeteria and his home don’t deplete.

He might as well be stuck here forever -  wherever that is. He hopes he isn’t.

The worst, he finds out after what seems like days, is the boredom. It’s worse than the time Jane Prentiss trapped him, because there were still indicators of time passing and the terror that kept him alert.

Martin wakes up one morning and makes himself breakfast, wondering if he should bother to go back to the Institute in the vain hope of finding something or someone finding him. He doesn’t in the end, just listlessly sits down on his couch in the shadows, staring at the sun that doesn’t rise further over the horizon until he dozes off again.

He wakes up because something is off, though it doesn’t occur to him until a ray of sunshine hits his eyes directly. 

Then there is knocking on the door. It’s fast and almost frantic.

“Martin?” comes the muffled yell through the door and Martin bolds upright so fast he nearly trips over his coffee table. “Martin! Are you there?”

“Tim?” he whispers, before realizing that Tim can’t hear him.

“Martin! Open the damn door!”

He rushes over, nearly slamming against the door in his haste and fumbles with the lock to get it open. Tim’s standing on the other side, eyes wide with worry, almost frantic, but the lines on his face smooth out when he sees Martin.

“Tim,” he repeats and before he can think better of it just pulls him in for a hug, clinging to Tim like he is a lifeline.

Tim returns the hug more slowly, but his hands settles on Martin’s back sure and steady.

“Are you all right?” he asks, worry still lacing his words and Martin just nods into his shoulder. 

“I.. yeah. I’m now?”

“What happened?” 

Martin isn’t sure he can answer that question right now. “I don’t- How long- how long was I gone?”

“Martin, what-”

“Just please,” he begs, his head still resting on Tim’s shoulder, his arms still tightly wrapped around Tim. Tim who is warm and human and real.

“You didn’t show up yesterday for work and when you didn’t turn up this morning, I thought-” Tim cuts himself off, but they both know what he must’ve thought. 

Only a day. Martin wants to laugh, but doesn’t. He’s starts crying though, quietly, something he only realises when Tim runs soothing circles over his back and whispers comforting words into his ears.

Martin closes his eyes and takes in the chirping of the birds outside and sounds of cars passing by on the street. Takes in Tim’s steady breathing and the smell of his aftershave, all of it so ordinary, so mundane. 


End file.
